Ah! But the turbulent cries of the ages
That here fill the mighty pen to wail
With hordes of unfulfilled reasons
And the weight of the mighty Veil.

Tribulations fills the mocking state
the anxiety that so envelopes but the form
Till gnashing is heard and quivering lips express
The guilt of the hearts great storm.

Pathetic creatures we surely become
When the gift of love so out bears our Souls
and lingering in faded anticipated halls
We come to grips with loves bitter blows.

Shudder to think the truth we carry
Each and every mortal, unending story
The faded cloth that once promised the world
Lays in the discarded rags of unfulfilled glory.

Then hearts weary from the toil of life
Begs Death its silent slumber of peace
As if here in the grave we are finally free
From the sacred love, That golden fleece.

Pity the hearts torn ever asunder to
The quickened lip and desirous body
That fast to gate the heart so sallies
To rest amidst loves succulent valleys.

Till soon the eye perceives the lie
and torn from inside it bears its cross
To lay upon the weeping times of breath
And awaits hopefully some peace across.

We gather our world in triumph around us
Hold high our heads to the justification we believe
Yet! We fail the step where love holds the simple promise
And sadly we, but forever the loss, grieve.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Where brown to tan
invites the eye
the silent sigh
that whimpers upon its find
The mind
Lost where reason fills, consumes
That here looms
Both in dream and sight
The beat of a heart.

That here where
in the fragrance I stroll
Know
The illuminating light that shines
Refines
My heart to the knowledge
That love grows, Fills and here invites
Ignites
Me ever to her form.

That love
That might of mortal dreams
Screams
upon the night its want
to be,
To see
where the eyes long
the hands strong
Long to touch and be

Ah! so simple the tender needs
Bleeds
through and within the orb of thought
so strongly as though it was caught
forever within her sight
The might
That ebbs to the flow of emotion
Singles to the devotion
Of all that love should be
And finds it at home in me.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Here where bog meets
greets
there, the morning sky
The sigh
that haunts these fields
yields
where the prospect of the morrow lays
Weighs
upon the gentle minds of the people.

There are
like a bright star
Shining within the breath of day
They say
Those born of the ancient mire
consumed by the delicate fire
To range in words within
where tales linger, spin
upon the fringe of the day.

I hear the distant cry
in fields beneath where now they lie
Sonnets written with the quail
to sail
the vibrant seas of minds, hearts
those parts
which linger as a whisper within our souls
Burning like coals
Red hot to the dream, an ideal
That zeal
These fields have grown.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

I seek the soft caress
where tales undress
your long smooth form
where fingers beg, torment and roam
Deep to the bone
Every hungered kiss,
demented bliss
That wages forth and cannot be denied
Where dreams engulf, sealed, cried
The budding lips that out pour
for the lingering want to tease, adore
Each scented fair that gathers the mind
Holds us tight there to find
Every combustive motion
of loves ****** potion
that wages deep upon our cries, that want
Better to tease, Torment, Taunt
Where eyes glazed, hovers, begs
another touch upon silken legs
the moments rush
the explosive crush
of tormented valleys
upon sensual galleys
where love to love
the want rides above
All that holds the passion true.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

When tides turn
the rolling flood fills
seems as if there to spill
upon the hallowed grounds
the flow of all that within a moments prayer
Rushes out there to compare
the tragedy of a moment
the internal drive lost in torment
That crushes forth those boundaries
where bears the tears of life's foundries
and pours out its delicate essence of form
In the simple bud of a tear.

That hearts and minds together pressed
there before ourselves - Undressed
The scars of the world that holds us down
suffocates us to drown
In the hollows of our being - seeing
The last fine ray of love outstretched
unable to grasp - We gasp
for the loss that is the woe of the soul
the love that would not come nor go
Just hovers in-between our beings
lost forever to our hearts dealings
that ravishes our sleep to no-more
where brands the pain, annoy, it's sore
upon the cold and lonely floor
Where we weep our bitter dreams.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Whare ripples
trickles
dreeps awa,
Tha fluid run
tha water braw.

A' triple race frae which it stems
aneath tha starry heevenly hem,
whare a' come an thereby pass
tha rivers edge wha gleams like glass.

Upon tha wintery echo , far weel I ken
tha cracklin tree like a bantom hen,
chuckles oot apun tha glen
aneith tha dark too'ering Ben.

This cul' dark an weary nicht
hulds tha worl' e'er sae ticht
tae tha lays tha lan' does spill
grasps yin an a' therein tae fill

Tae a' tha glory O winter's parade
tha tinsel show, its masqurade.
Fills us a' doun tae tha bane
tae tha spirit O winter's ain.


© Alisdaire O'Caoimph